


Toxicity

by Rad_Loser_Weenie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John does something good, John does something...a bit not good, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Not Beta'd, Not Britpicked, Sherlock is actually stunned, St. Bart's, mentions of near death, write and post
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 06:51:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rad_Loser_Weenie/pseuds/Rad_Loser_Weenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John and Sherlock reunited, something clicked in John's brain. Sherlock's safety became something of a priority of John's and over time, it grew in intensity. </p><p>"But...to turn yourself into a veritable weapon...John?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toxicity

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the lovely BBC Sherlock, or the characters. I am merely a humble fan who has bursts of inspiration. 
> 
> My original idea for this story was completely different from the way it turned out, but such is the life of a writer, no?  
> I wanted to try out a new format for dialogue, so I hope you all won't mind. 
> 
> Please do not hesitate to comment with feedback and/or concrit. A writer can only improve, right?
> 
> _Edit: Bit of a word change in a few places to smooth things out._

“Do you understand what just happened.”

“...”

“John.”

A sigh.

“ _John_.”

“Not now, Sherlock.”

“If not now, then _when_?”

“Just...not now.”

Sherlock didn’t know what to do. He often felt that way around John Watson, and it frightened him. Now, though, he was both scared and confused. John had just returned from St. Bart’s only he had been submitted as a patient. It didn’t take much to start the flashbacks.  
Sherlock had found him on the floor of their flat, convulsing, eyes glazed, and unresponsive to verbal stimulation. Sherlock had dialed 999 and had stayed in the flat, immediately searching for anything that could have caused such a condition to overcome his strong flatmate.  
After an hour of searching, he had located a bottle that seemed to have rolled underneath John’s bed. It was labelled as multi-vitamins. Something so normal, he had to wonder why it would be in John’s room. As he opened it, a sharp, bitter smell had invaded his nostrils and his eyes widened as he realized what the multitude of colored capsules and tablets were.  
He had called a taxi and bribed the cabbie to drive through several stoplights and break many speed limits in order to get to the hospital. Blast the ambulance, he had been promised a swift arrival, and he could only internally fume at the utter incompetence that had been shown. It was utterly ridiculous to have to hail a cab when proper medical transport had already been requested. Once Sherlock had reached the hospital, he went straight through the emergency entrance, ignoring the confused shouts of the barely departing EMTs. 

“His blood, it’s toxic, do not let anyone come into any form of contact with it.”

The doctor raised his eyebrow, but when Sherlock pulled out the bottle and opened it, the smell was enough to convince the doctor to quarantine John in a certain area of the hospital reserved for patients with toxic conditions. He had been told of this man, along with every member of staff in the hospital. It was rather unwise to refuse him. 

“You are required to wear the sanitary garments in order to enter the room, and you must shower and change prior to exiting the patient’s quarters. Scrub your arms and hands before and after any contact and your hair and mouth will need to be masked.”

Sherlock impatiently listened to the nurse’s spiel about safety before following procedures and entering John’s room. John had been stabilized and was now resting on the hospital bed, various machines keeping track of heart rate, temperature, oxygen levels, and the like. 

“Come to try to analyze me, Sherlock?”

Sherlock was not surprised by the fact that John was awake, the ex-soldier always having been very aware of his surroundings, even in sleep. 

“John, why──”

“You’ve seen the bottle, I suppose. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here. Frankly, I’m impressed that you managed to listen to the nurse about safety. Glad to know you don’t completely lack self-preservation.”

“Please, if I wanted to, I could be out of this ridiculous suit in a matter of moments. Mycroft holds an excellent amount of leverage with the Holmes name. But my sudden regard for hospital regulations is not the main point of concern. You will tell me why you have been ingesting these poisons.”

John gave an empty laugh, a wry smile on his face. He brought a hand up and roughly rubbed his face, sighing deeply.

“For your safety.”

Sherlock blinked and his brows furrowed, trying to analyze John’s meaning.

“It would be more of a danger for you to be so full of toxins, especially within our line of work, don’t you...oh. _Oh_ , you...you meant to protect me. The inverse of the South American poison dart frog. You planned to be the last line of defense. To be wounded would involve the attacker to get some of your blood on them, and with how much poison you’ve ingested and grown a tolerance for, you would kill them within a matter of minutes.”

Sherlock had to admit that it _was_ rather clever, for being such a drawn out plan. And by the looks of how few tablets and capsules were left in the bottle, John would have finished sometime soon. 

Even now, as Sherlock followed John into the kitchen of 221B Baker Street, he remembered the utter resignation that passed over John’s face when he confirmed Sherlock’s theories. John quietly made two cups of tea, a new jar of Orange Blossom honey from _Meadle’s_ opened on the counter, as he put a spoonful of the honey into his tea and then fixed up Sherlock’s tea exactly to his usual standards. 

“John, why?”

John gave a deep sigh, looking up to the ceiling as if asking for the strength to go through with his explanation. 

“Sherlock, we’ve been committed for seven months──”

“Six months, twenty-eight days, three hours, and ten...eleven minutes.”

John gave Sherlock a long suffering look and cleared his throat.

“ _Almost_ seven months, and we’ve been friends for _almost_ six years. We’ve been in almost every situation one could possibly imagine when on a case, and I’m not as young as I used to be. There are only so many precautions one can take before desperate measures are the only concepts left to clutch at.”  
Sherlock wrapped his head around what John was saying. The fact that he was so intent on keeping Sherlock safe that he would constantly risk death, just to turn his blood into something that could be used as a weapon...Sherlock felt breathless, for just a moment. 

John sat, sipping his tea, allowing Sherlock to think. It wasn’t something to take lightly. Of course, Sherlock did not need long to process, but it was a surprise to John that, upon placing his tea on to the table, he suddenly had a lap full of one curly haired consulting detective, his pale face buried into the doctor’s shoulder, his long arms wrapped around John’s waist. 

“Thank you.” 

And that...that was what broke the dam. John hadn’t cried since the Fall, and he didn’t realize how much he had needed to cry until that very moment. He brought Sherlock as close as possible and muffled his quiet crying within the taller man’s scarf. 

“I would do _anything_ , Sherlock, to keep you from having to leave again.” 

“I know that, now. And I’ll never do it again, John. I swear it.”

And with that, John’s heart began to clear out the toxic doubts that plagued his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this. I wanted to try a new format for dialogue, and I hope that it didn't bother anyone. 
> 
> Please, do not hesitate to leave concrit, feedback, and/or suggestions.


End file.
